


Off Balance

by Altenprano



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, tw: mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altenprano/pseuds/Altenprano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Carson has noticed a change in Anna. Ever since the house party, she's been more jumpy, more withdrawn, and less sociable than usual, and he's determined to find out what happened, even if he has to ask her himself. Based on "Off Balance," a thread between idontpretendtobealady and carson-thebutler-speaking on tumblr. Trigger warning: mention of rape in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  First of all, I think I owe you all apologies for ripping your hearts out (specifically my good friends Victoria, Grace, and Andrea, who have all confronted me about my angst-addiction when it comes to Anna). I will write happy things...one day...just not today.  
> So, for a little background on where this idea came from, I think we can all say that some folks downstairs had to notice that something was up with Anna after she was attacked, because they're not stupid (except Jimmy, but I love him anyways), so this is part of a series that covers the different staff reactions (as I can see them happening) to what happened to Anna. This particular one is not my own creation, at least, the whole concept and general following of the story wasn't. This is based on a thread between me (idontpretendtobealady/altenprano) and one of my rp partners in the DA tumblr community (carson-thebutler-speaking/rainie-the-ultimate-ginge), and she has given me permission to turn it into part of my project. Thank you Rainie!  
> Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, and if I did, this would totally happen. I'm sorry.  
> On with the (probably very upsetting and depressing) show!

            Charles watched as Anna regarded her breakfast with disinterest, her eyes fixed on the toast before her as if she were memorizing every detail of the food instead of eating it. He couldn’t help but notice how she seemed to make herself take up as little space as possible, at least enough that she wouldn’t risk touching James or Mr. Bates, who sat on either side of her, and, though he hadn’t heard anything on the subject, it was clear that something was wrong.

            Ever since the house party (at least, that’s when this new behavior had shown itself), he’d noticed that Anna had become suddenly more withdrawn, more easily frightened by the slightest noise, and less present at mealtimes.  He knew she was a private person—ever since she’d arrived at Downton nearly twenty years ago, she’d kept to herself about most things, and never intruded on other people’s affairs—but the silence with which she’d gone about her chores for the past fortnight was odd.  And she’d never stayed in the same room as Mr. Bates for more than a second, always avoiding eye contact when such a course of action was necessary—yet another odd occurrence.

            It was all very unlike Anna, to be so silent, and to leave as soon as her husband entered the room.  One would think, that after everything that the two had been through, that they would want every moment together, and Charles hoped that they hadn’t had a falling-out. If that was the case, the most he could do would be to hope that they forgave the other soon, so perhaps Anna would return to her previous state.  He hoped this for her sake as much as for Mr. Bates’s, though their disagreement (whatever it may be) had not upset the running of the household yet, making it a lower priority for the butler.

            As the staff left the table to continue on with the day’s chores, Charles seized the moment to find out what was wrong with Anna before she could go see to Lady Mary, waiting until she was alone in the servants’ hall, as not to make a scene. Surely she would tell him if something were amiss, and if not, well, he didn’t enjoy being kept in the dark about things such as this. Perhaps, if she wouldn’t yield any information, he could ask Mrs. Hughes—she was sure to know.

            But what if the housekeeper didn’t know, or what if she wouldn’t tell him?

            “Anna, might I have a word?” he asked, making sure to speak in a way that wouldn’t startle her.

            The lady’s maid met Charles’s gaze for a moment, and in that moment, the butler saw fear flash across her eyes before it was replaced with a stony, guarded look that was completely and utterly foreign to him. “Is everything alright, Mr. Carson? If it’s about doing the extra mending, it’s really no bother, truly.”

            He hesitated before answering her with a brisk nod. “You’ve done nothing wrong, if that’s what you are wondering, Anna,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie.

 In her twenty-plus years of service at Downton Abbey, Anna had never broken any of the rules, never slacking or partaking in relationships with any of the hall boys or footmen, and never behaving in an unkind manner to anyone, not even Mrs. O’Brien. It was safe to say that everyone at Downton admired her strength of character, and it was one of life’s indisputable facts that Anna was the kindest soul downstairs (Lady Sybil would always be the kindest of the family, and she was fair enough competition for Anna in terms of who was the kindest overall). 

True, the butler had qualms about allowing her to do work that could easily be done by Madge or Alice, but it was clear that she was at peace when she was working, so he made no comment. As long as those whose work she took on didn’t become too lazy, Charles saw no reason to reprimand her for doing their work. Mrs. Hughes could always find other tasks for the housemaids to complete, and then maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about the footmen and hall boys getting into any trouble with the maids.

“Perhaps we should go talk in my pantry,” he suggested, doing his best to be patient with her (which he hoped no one else saw, not even Mrs. Hughes or Mrs. Patmore). She was clearly scared, and while he didn’t know the best way for dealing with it, he knew being patient was a step in the right direction, and that was better than nothing.

It all came down to maintaining authority for Charles. If he came across as too gentle, too caring, or even the slightest bit sentimental, as Mrs. Hughes sometimes did, he feared he would lose control. Also, the youngest member of staff (Kate, the new scullery maid) was almost sixteen, which was old enough to take care of oneself. He didn’t need to be playing father to every maid and footman under this roof, let alone allowing them to find comfort in his presence. He stood for order, and if that was what they stood for, they knew to handle their problems themselves. 

Anna opened her mouth to protest, but, when no sound came, closed it and nodded. “Yes sir,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I have to see to Lady Mary soon, though—“

“It won’t take long, I promise,” he said, watching her stand and marveling at how much she had changed, not just in behavior, but in body. He could now see shadows under her eyes, and, as if that was not enough to trouble the butler, the way her dress seemed to hang off of her shoulders suggested that she hadn’t eaten since the house party, for whatever reason there was. It was clear even to him that she was trying to hide it by pinning her dress and holding herself so she didn’t appear to be swallowed by the dark fabric.

She followed him silently to his pantry, her feet barely lifting off the floor as she went, and he could almost hear her glancing around the hall, which was mostly empty by this point in the morning. A sudden gasp escaped her lips as they passed the closed door of the boot room, and he heard her freeze.

When he turned around to address Anna, to ask her what was the matter, he saw her standing, frozen in place, her posture as stiff as a poker (a metaphor Charles disliked, but it felt fitting at the moment), and her eyes fixed on the door.

“Anna?” he asked, taking a careful step towards her, not sure what to do. _Where is Mrs. Hughes when you need her?_ He thought, casting a glance that was hopefully not too distressed-looking up and down the hall. “Are you alright?”

At first she didn’t reply, not for at least a few minutes, when she shook her head, and the clouded-over expression of panic left her face. The crease in her brow smoothed as she wrenched her gaze from the door of the boot room, her face settling into its previous dark neutrality. “Forgive me,” she said, her voice coming as no more than an apologetic whisper.

“Of course,” Charles said, taking a step back, giving Anna her space, though not without a careful look at her.

There was something amiss, surely. How many times had Anna walked past the boot room without freezing up like that, yet now, she froze like a deer in front of a hunter’s rifle? Had she had a nightmare concerning the boot room (to Charles, the notion was impossible, but he considered it nonetheless), or was there something he was missing? There’d been a haunted look in her eyes, like he’d seen in the eyes of the soldiers who’d stayed at Downton during the war, and sometimes the same shadow passed over Mr. Bates and Thomas’s expressions as well, when they thought no one was looking. It was yet another puzzle to him, seeing as Anna hadn’t experienced war, nor had she been involved in any conflict to warrant such behavior—and so suddenly too!

Whatever it was, Charles was determined to get to the bottom of it, and maybe then, then, there would be peace for Anna, as well as for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Here's chapter two!!  
> Thank you to Victoria, for convincing me that this wasn't horribly far-fetched after all, and for not murdering me, I suppose.  
> This chapter is from Anna's POV, and has a lot of content from my thread with carson-thebutler-speaking/rainie-the-ultimate-ginge. I hope you all enjoy!obligatory disclaimer-thing: I don't own downton abbey. We've been over this. We ought to know the routine by now.  
> Enjoy!

            “Anna?”

            _The flat of his hand came in contact with her cheek, stinging and eliciting a defeated cry from her lips. Her head was pounding even more now, the powder she’d come downstairs for rendered useless as she was thrown against the wall of the boot room._

_“Bitch,” he spat as she struck at him, a feeble attempt to defend herself. He pressed his lips to hers, aggressive and forceful—nothing like Mr. Bates._

_“Let go!” she cried again, her voice lacking any sort of conviction. Yes, she was still fighting—like a frenzied animal, not a human being—but she had practically given up. She was nothing against him, a mosquito trying to irritate a rhinoceros, and he knew that._

_He didn’t answer, pinning her beneath him and pulling at her dress with savage force. Still, she kicked and lashed out, but that only made his movements more aggressive, more fervent. She was almost crushed underneath him, trapped and helpless and hoping against all hope that someone would come find them and save her, but at the same time, she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be seen as having allowed him to violate her as he was now doing so liberally, as if she were a feast and he was the only one invited to consume what was laid out._

“Anna, are you alright?”

Mr. Carson’s voice brought Anna back to the present, and she found herself face-to-face with the closed door of the boot room, her feet rooted in place. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she wiped her sweating palms on the skirt of her dress, attempting to hide her distress from Mr. Carson.

            “Forgive me,” she managed to say, shaking her head, as if to rid her mind of the memory.

            The butler nodded, still watching her carefully. “Of course,” he said, turning and continuing on to his pantry.

            She followed, casting her gaze left and right, determined to stay on her guard. She hoped that he wanted to discuss some other infringement upon his rules that she’d made, and not her behavior over the last fortnight. She hadn’t been hurting anyone (except, perhaps, Mr. Bates), and it hadn’t interfered with her work at all. In fact, she was working more efficiently than ever, staying up until the odd hours of the morning to make sure that everything was perfectly mended and wouldn’t have to be mended for quite some time. It wasn’t as if she was able to sleep anyways, so she might as well be productive, right?

            “Is everything alright, Anna?” Mr. Carson asked as he closed the door to his pantry behind her. The butler went to pour them each a cup of tea before coming to stand across form her.

            As the door was shut, Anna flinched, startled by the noise. “Everything’s fine, sir,” she answered, caught off-guard by the butler’s sudden compassion. Normally he cared only for the household and the Crawleys, and that was in the most professional of ways. Never had he shown any kind of parental concern—she dared call it that—towards her or any of the other staff members.

            “I’m just a little bit fatigued after the house party,” she added, repeating what she’d told everyone who dared ask after her.

            What looked like a sad smile passed across Mr. Carson’s lips. "Anna, I just want you to know, if something is wrong, you can tell us,” he told her. “You’ve been beyond jumpy lately, and I’ve heard you haven’t been sleeping at the cottage, but in your old room. Is something happening between you and Mr. Bates?"

            "Nothing’s happened between us, sir," she said, stiffening at his comments.  Was it really that obvious, that something was wrong? Mr. Carson was the first member of staff to approach her about…it. Everyone else had mostly kept quiet, having seen the look Mrs. Hughes had aimed at Thomas when he’d commented on her split lip at breakfast, the morning after it had happened.

"And nothing’s wrong, I promise." _As if it could be fixed_ , she thought, trying to swallow the slight panic she felt coiling tight in her chest, as if it were trying to get her to confess, to force the words from her mouth and end this nightmare once and for all.

But the nightmare would only continue, wouldn’t it? Mr. Carson might care for her— in his way— but he cared for the reputation of Downton more, and no house would keep a woman like her, not if the butler and housekeeper knew her secret. That’s what it was now, her secret. And she would carry it with her to her grave.

Oh, how she wanted to tell him, to ease the burden, but the constant reminder of the risks involved kept her silent. In telling Mr. Bates, she risked losing him, but in telling Mr. Carson, she would lose more than that. Her job, her home (she felt silly, thinking of Downton as her home), and then she would have to explain to Mr. Bates why that was suddenly so, and would lose him too. She felt trapped, and that did very little to ease the tension and fear that still lingered like an unwelcome houseguest after the attack.

Her grip on the teacup tightened as she struggled to hide the sudden fear that gripped her, but all that did was expose the trembling of her hands, something she couldn’t hide as well. “Mr. Carson, if you’ll please excuse me, I have to…I have to get on with my chores for the day,” she managed to say, though she knew it was foolish to try and deter the butler. And it wasn’t as if she could move— she felt rooted to the spot, her mind too busy processing and trying to quell her fear to do anything else. Her hands were shaking, and she narrowly avoided dropping the teacup, setting it down before she could break it.

Carson eyed her hands, his brows coming together as he took in the details. “Lady Mary can wait, Anna. I’ll have Mrs. Hughes send Madge or Mairead up today to see to her.”

“It’s my job,” she said, shaking her head. Her whole mind felt fuzzy, too close to panic to be of much use, but at least she was able to speak through her fear here. “I can see to it, Mr. Carson.”

“Nonsense. You may see to her when you have told me what happened the night of the concert.”

His words struck her, and no doubt her expression was that of sheer and utter terror. He’d won. No use hiding now, was there?

“Very well,” she said, forcing her lips into a stubborn line.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thank you so much for reading and I hope you all have lovely summers. I shall be on and off as access permits, but otherwise, peace out y'lall. I shall be hand writing fics so that I can type them and post them when the time comes, so yeah...  
> As always, comments, questions, conspiracy theories, pizza orders, and treaties are all welcome in the box below!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  So I lied last chapter-- this isn't done yet. Well, it is now.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_ , and today's chapter is trigger-tagged with mentions of rape.  
> Hope you enjoy the final (at least for now) chapter of Off-Balance

In all the years he’d known her, Charles had never known Anna to withhold information from him or Mrs. Hughes, nor had he known her to behave in such an elusive manner, and, try as he might, the butler found it difficult to keep a hold on his patience.

 _Tread lightly, Charles_ , he reminded himself, noting the woman’s wavering grip on the teacup, so tight it seemed as if she might shatter or drop it on accident. _Patience will win out._

“Anna, what happened?” he asked again, approaching her only after he was sure the door was shut completely.

Her eyes lit up-- not with surprise, Charles realized, but with _terror_ \-- and the shaking in her hands intensified as the distance between them lessened. “Mrs. Hughes told you. I fainted. I...fainted and I...I hit my head,” she told him, her voice caught between a sharp defensive tone that sounded utterly foreign coming from her, and the soft, frantic muttering that had become all too familiar as of late.

“I know what Mrs. Hughes told me,” he said, trying to maintain the appearance of patience, for Anna’s sake. He knew she was lying-- he could hear it in the trembling of her voice-- which meant Mrs. Hughes had lied to him as well.

“Then you know.” What was meant to be said with some kind of finality came out as a choked-back sob, followed by the sound of a teacup shattering on the floor.

 _No, I don’t,_ the butler wanted to say, but the words died on his lips as he beheld the haunted look that had crept across the face of the lady’s maid, darkening every aspect of her countenance.

His eyes went to her violently shaking hands, then to her face, which had always been fair, though now it was of a complexion that one only saw in corpses. The semicircles of shadow under each half-alive eye were almost as dark as her uniform, which hung on her as if she were a child trying on her mother’s clothes.

Never in his many years of service had Charles seen anyone in the same condition as Anna following a house party. Sure, the shadowy crescents of too many nights spent waiting until two in the morning to go to bed, only to rise at five or six the next morning were familiar, but not the state of decay that presented itself on the petite body of Anna Bates. There was something more to it, either something he was missing, or something he hadn’t considered yet.

The way she shied away from any kind of physical contact, the way she shied away from her husband (she couldn’t bear to be within sight of Mr. Bates, now that he thought about it), there had to be a reason for it.

Had Bates taken to beating his wife?

Charles hated to entertain the thought, his chest tightening at the mental picture of Anna at the mercy of a man she’d fought so hard to be with, a man she’d defended and sought to exonerate with all the determination she could muster. It didn’t fit-- no, Bates would never strike his wife-- but then the butler remembered the argument on the night of the concert, how he’d been reminded that His Lordship’s valet was a convicted murderer, regardless of the evidence against his guilt. Against a woman Anna’s size, Bates could do a good deal of damage, even if he didn’t intend to, and Charles knew if that was the case, that Bates was indeed guilty of harming the woman who did nothing but love him, the valet would find the butler defending Anna after it was brought to His Lordship’s attention.

“Who hurt you?” The question came unbidden-- unwelcome, almost-- from his mouth, his voice carrying a quiet undercurrent of impatience. He found himself taking Anna’s shaking hands in his (that’s what Mrs. Hughes would’ve done, to comfort the woman, wasn’t it?), but she pulled back, her nails scraping his palm. “Was it Mr. Bates?”

She shook her head, and the light coming through the window caught in the tears that slipped into the shadowed hollows beneath her eyes. “No sir,” she stammered, holding her hands close to her body and twisting her right ring finger, as if she were toying with her wedding ring.

“Then who was it?”

He regretted it as soon as he saw the panic flare in her eyes, and she shook her head again, dislodging a few pale hairs from her neat bun. _Look what you’ve done,_ he thought darkly, making another attempt to console her, so maybe then she would tell him what was wrong.

Another mistake.

As soon as his hands touched her shoulders, she flinched away-- it was painfully noticeable up close, larger-than-life, almost-- but he held her there with as much gentle force as he could muster. After a moment, she went limp in his arms, perhaps realizing that it was pointless to resist the butler, even though she hopefully knew he would never hurt her, not in the way that someone had so clearly done.

“Anna, if it wasn’t Bates, then who was it?”

A choked sob escaped her throat, and her tears had washed away most of the powder that covered the ghosts of bruises and still-healing cuts, almost eliciting a horrified gasp from Charles. “I...I don’t...I don’t know,” she said, quivering like a leaf to the point Charles was sure that if he let go of her, she might fall over.

_So someone did hurt her._

That satisfied the butler’s concern enough for him to find his patience once more, and, keeping his voice low, as if speaking to an injured animal, he continued: “When did it happen?”

Of course, he knew the answer. She’d hurt herself-- or rather, been hurt-- on the night of Dame Nellie Melba’s concert, but the butler wanted to know that at least Mrs. Hughes hadn’t been lying when she explained her version of what happened that night.

“The concert.” Her arms were wrapped around her middle, tight enough that Charles couldn’t see her ribs expand and contract as she breathed. He could hear the rustle of fabric as she fidgeted with her dress, rubbing the dark fabric between her fingers. “After the,” --she froze, her jaw tightening and her brows coming together as she struggled to complete her thought-- “...After the Puccini, I think.”

He nodded. He didn’t remember exactly when the Puccini piece had been performed (let alone which one had been the Puccini), only that it’d been towards the end of the concert. He recalled seeing Anna slip away from the congregation of servants, followed by Lord Gillingham’s valet. Of the two, only the valet had returned to the concert, and Anna remained downstairs, presumably ill.

_But she wasn’t, was she?_

It must’ve been Green, it had to be. Why else would he be the only one to emerge, when Anna had gone down first, and why did he go down in the first place? Anna at least had been ill the whole day, and Charles had seen that in her pale, slightly drawn face, but Green seemed perfectly fine, eager almost, as he loped after the lady’s maid with the grace of a predator stalking prey, his tread silent on the old floor of the parlor.

It all made sense now.

Green had raped Anna, and for some reason, she was avoiding her husband over it. That was the great secret Mrs. Hughes was keeping, the reason behind her desperation to distract the butler whenever he tried to find out what had happened. She was protecting Anna, though why was she protecting her from him?

Was it not his right, as butler of Downton Abbey, to know what horror had transpired in _his_ house (never mind that the property belonged to the Crawleys-- he kept it looking as pristine as it had in its golden years) to one of _his_ staff? Did Mrs. Hughes think that he would tell Bates? Did she really think he was that foolish, that he wouldn’t consider the consequences of such an action?

After a moment’s pause, Charles released Anna, clasping his hands behind his back and glancing away for a moment, trying to compose himself. “Forgive me, Anna,” was all he found himself able to say, heat rising in his cheeks. “I did not intend to frighten you. I was concerned, that was all.” _We’re all concerned._  

She drew a deep breath, and he could hear it as it passed her now-trembling lips. “It’s alright,” she muttered, her eyes dull once more. “May I go see to Lady Mary now?”

He went to open the door out into the hall. “Certainly. Give her my apologies for keeping you.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand, sir.”

He watched her leave, moving as quickly and purposefully as she could without running, her hands held at her sides. Did Lady Mary know? He was certain that Mrs. Hughes knew, and he made a note to ask Mrs. Hughes what’d really happened, as well as why she hadn’t thought to tell him, when it was his right to know. As for Mr. Bates, Charles knew he would have to do his best to soothe the valet’s worries without giving Anna away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much for reading! This is an incredibly interesting topic to explore, and I hope to do more work on it later.  
> As always, comments and queries and stuff are more than welcome (that box down there isn't there for nothing, I think), and thank you so much for reading this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! This concludes Part One of "Off Balance." I have no clue how many parts there will be, but there will be parts...I might make this a whole fic, because reasons.  
> As always, comments and critiques are more than welcome, and thank you!


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